


after the storm

by puchuupoet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Deathfic, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-03
Updated: 2010-08-03
Packaged: 2017-10-11 17:31:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/114878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puchuupoet/pseuds/puchuupoet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Spoilers for 5.10. So many thanks to <a href="http://playthefool.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://playthefool.livejournal.com/"><strong>playthefool</strong></a> for feedback ♥♥ unbeta'd, and I may end up reworking it when I'm more coherent. But uggh, this fic + this song ♥ (Mumford & Sons: White Blank Page)</p>
    </blockquote>





	after the storm

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 5.10. So many thanks to [](http://playthefool.livejournal.com/profile)[**playthefool**](http://playthefool.livejournal.com/) for feedback ♥♥ unbeta'd, and I may end up reworking it when I'm more coherent. But uggh, this fic + this song ♥ (Mumford & Sons: White Blank Page)

  
Jo wakes up to the moon streaming across her legs, still spread out in front of her. She's not as stiff as she thought she would be, and when she finally brings herself to twist her neck around, there's no one nearby. Her right side feels cool, and she can't tell if it's because of the shadows or because her mother's body isn't pressed up against hers anymore, hair tickling the side of Jo's face.

She still leans into it instinctively, can almost imagine the warmth of her mom's shoulder and how she smells like Pledge and whiskey and lilac. Jo keeps rolling though, til she's tumbled around and is lying on her back on the cold tiled floor of the hardware store. She thought she'd be dizzier from the blood loss, but when she tests it out, rolling her head from side to side, she's fine, and pauses for a moment to stare at the water stains on the ceiling.

A clatter from the front of the store has Jo tensing up, on her feet in seconds and reaching for anything to protect herself with. There's the normal shit on the counter, keys and penlights and fucking Tic-Tacs, and Jo stretches out to grab a length of pipe from the closest aisle.

"Who's there?" Her voice is broken and rough and she pauses for a moment to feel her throat, double-checking the curves and ridges just to make sure the hellhounds didn't rip that out as well. She steadies herself against the counter, foot braced against the base of it as she raises the pipe to her shoulder. She can't see any shotguns around her, and she can't remember if the guys left her any before they took off.

Jo can hear the footsteps getting closer, and her shoulders tense when she finally sees the figure approaching. The girl's dress is stark against the aisles, a bright white that makes Jo's stomach twist. Nothing good ever comes from women in white dresses.

"I'm not here to harm you," and the girl's voice is soft, careful as she approaches Jo.

Jo still keeps the pipe pressed to her shoulder, ready to swing it out and around until she realizes it's probably not even iron. Fuck. She risks a glance down its length, sees the "STEEL" stamped into it, raised letters mocking her and she can feel her breath punched out of her.

"It still wouldn't have affected things," and the soft voice pisses her off more than she thought it would. Jo looks up, really stares at the other woman for the first time and finally feels fear shudder through her.

"Please, no..." Jo looks around as realization hits her, almost wishes there were corpses around her to prove to her that life was still within reach, but that would mean... "Mom?"

"Still fighting, for moments longer."

"You bitch."

The reaper across from her has the decency to look sad. "It's not my call, I'm afraid."

"Then what the fuck are you doing here?" Jo clutches at the pipe, dropping it down to rest one end on the ground, but she can still feel the threading bite into her palm, and the pain gives her a flash of hope.

"I'm here for you."

Jo's heard about this, stories from other hunters: that when the Reaper comes, you go, or else there's a lifetime of hurt waiting in the shadows.

There are shadows she thinks she sees, glimpses of something that catch the corner of Jo's eyes. A figure headed towards the door, scraping away the salt with the sole of their shoe, and Jo's suddenly screaming at it, _you fucking moron, stay away_ , language she would never have used at her mom, but then there's suddenly more shadows, low to the ground and loping towards her, towards the figure headed back at her, and Jo stumbles towards her mom, trying to hug her til Jo passes straight through the shadows.

A heat breaks into her peripheral vision, sharp licks of orange and blue and yellow that have her twisting around, but all she can see are the flames crawling up the building through the windows.

"What's going on?" The pipe finally clatters to the floor, Jo's palms are sweaty and she wipes them down on her jeans.

"Life," and Jo's never heard the word spoken so sadly before. "Joanna," and when Jo looks up the girl is right there and Jo's on her knees, the building exploding around them. "Please."

Jo doesn't want to agree to what's happening, but she knows she can't stay here, charred and bitter and broken down, surrounded by her mother's ashes, mixing with her own.

"What now, then," and Jo does her damnedest to stay strong, but her voice wavers and she ends up grasping at the whiteness in front of her, fingers curling in soft cotton as she feels a hand curve around her jaw.

"Let me take you," says the girl, eyes trusting in a way that Jo rarely got at the Roadhouse, and she goes with it, knowing any other path is one that'll lead to ruin.

Jo stands, realizing she's almost the same height as the other woman. "What happens now?" And Jo can see the flashes of explosions reflected in her eyes.

"I take you to the other side." The hand stayed on her cheek when Jo rose, and now the reaper's thumb brushes over her skin, a sudden familiar gesture that has Jo leaning in for more.

"Will my mom be there?" Jo's voice is a whisper, not wanting to give substance to the thought.

The reaper just looks wistful, leaning in to press a kiss to Jo's forehead. "I don't know that yet," she murmurs, and Jo can feel her stomach drop. "It's still better to go forward, you know."

Joanna nods, leaning into the touch, and when she closes her eyes she focuses on the lips on her skin. "Please," she whispers, and she's not sure what she's asking for until the lips drift down, brushing against the tip of her nose before pressing against her mouth.

"I don't usually do this," the reaper murmurs, a soft smile against Jo's mouth, and Jo reaches around to tangle her fingers in the reaper's hair, clutching her closer.

"You've never had to come for me before," Jo tries to grin back, tries so fucking hard to focus on the soft curve of her mouth, the way she tastes like waxy raspberry lip gloss somehow, rather than the burning smell of paint and bones and lawn furniture, how the ashes keep catching in her eyelashes and nose, sticking on her tongue like snowflakes. "Save me from it," and Jo hopes the reaper understands, knows she does when the reaper wraps her arms around her and holds her tight, mouth tightly pressed to Jo's, and Jo finally lets herself go.


End file.
